


Tonight With Words Unspoken

by PepperF



Series: Moebius tags [2]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-23
Updated: 2010-12-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 20:06:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperF/pseuds/PepperF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doctor Carter has some time to think after meeting a certain infuriating ex-colonel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tonight With Words Unspoken

"The sheer arrogance of the man!"

"Right! And the willful ignorance! He wouldn't even watch the tape!"

"Yes! And that. And, and, and..." Sam stumbled. It was hard to walk and rant at the same time. "I hate heels," she muttered.

"I wouldn't call him a heel, exactly," said Daniel, with drunken fair-mindedness. 

"Nonono." She stopped, and held up one foot, nearly falling on her ass as she did so. "Heeeeeeeeeeeeels."

"Ohhhhh." They staggered on down the hallway. "I bet he dyes his hair."

Sam, privately thinking that Daniels in glass houses shouldn't throw stones, hmmed neutrally. "And after we came all this way just to speak to him! We're supposed to be a team! Some team _he_ is." She waved her hand. "Team leader. Whatever." Ooh, everything was kind of spinny.

"Yeah, and – hey, isn't this your room?"

"Oh!" She'd nearly staggered past it. "Yes, yes, yes, yes." She fiddled with the key card, which was misbehaving, refusing to go in the slot properly. "Yesyesyes. Damn keycard, 'sall bent..." Behind her, Daniel was swaying slightly, making her feel dizzy. Probably they shouldn't have stayed up until... whatever time it was, in the hotel bar, but it had been such fun talking to Daniel. She'd never met anyone she'd connected with so quickly, before – someone who understood her frustration, that feeling like her life was just... _wrong_ , somehow. And after a few too many Mai Tais, they'd gotten on to the many faults of Colonel Jack O'Neill (retired), and now it was... She squinted at her watch, but couldn't make out the numbers. Late, anyhow. The door clicked. "Aha! Okey-dokey, night-night, Daniel. Don't let the bedbugs bite. Flight back to Colorado at 9a.m.. Don't oversleep!" 

"Muh. Hey, Sam, d'you—"

She slammed the door on whatever he'd been saying, ignored the light switch, and kicked off her shoes, wincing as one smacked into the wall with unexpected force. "Stoopid place to put a wall." She pulled at the buttons of her blouse, which were behaving as badly as the keycard, and finally dropped it on the floor just before she collapsed face-first on the bed. 

"Ow." 

Belatedly, she took off her glasses and tossed them onto one of the pillows.

The room felt like it was spinning, rocking... It felt like she was back on that damn boat again, with that damn man, and his mocking, dark eyes, and his pig-headedness, and the smudges of dirt and motor oil on his skin...

Sam groaned in frustration, sinking her teeth into the blanket. If she had one secret weakness, one kink she'd never reveal to anyone for fear of the power it would give them, it was for a man working on an engine. Something about the harsh, rich smell of the oil, mixed with a little bit of sweat and an underlying hint of soap or cologne, the look of the grease on his tanned arms, the knowledge of how it would feel – warm, oily, slightly gritty – beneath her fingers... it tripped all kind of switches in her brain. And he'd been so arrogant, too, so sure of himself – so... 

...So exactly the type she always fell for. Like a rock. "Girl, you have issues," she told herself, muffled in the sheets. She rolled on to her back and carefully upright, and forced herself to her feet towards the bathroom: no matter how drunk, she could never break herself of the compulsion to brush her teeth for precisely two minutes every night. She left the light off, and blinked hazily at herself in the mirror. Pretty, definitely, if a little messed up. She ruffled her hair and threw back her shoulders, giving the mirror a come-hither stare. Yeah, she was totally hot. 

The room swayed as she staggered back to bed, so she kept her eyes closed and let herself drop gently down onto the covers again, willing her stomach to stay put. "Boat," she muttered, trying to picture a non-Mai Tai reason for the pitching and yawing. "Cool breeze, warm sun... hot guy..." Mmm, yes.

She ran her hands down her body and fumbled for the zipper of her skirt, finally struggling out of it and her pantyhose with eyes still determinedly closed, and kicking them off the bed. Lying on a strange hotel bed in nothing but her underwear felt decidedly decadent. She spread out her arms and grasped at the edges, feeling it sway, like a bed on a boat. Oh, he could dream she'd be that easy! "Arrogant asshole," she muttered.

_I'm sorry, Doctor Carter._

"You are a petty, small-minded little man, and just because my reproductive organs..." The speech, not very heartfelt, trailed off. No, he'd been just as rude to Daniel – it wasn't about gender. "Just because I'm – we're geeks... Just because Daniel and I aren't part of your flyboy club doesn't mean you can – you can laugh at the idea that, in some alternate universe, we're – we're... You should just watch the tape!"

_I should have listened to you. I was rude and thoughtless, and because of that, we may all miss out on the experience of a lifetime._

She opened her eyes and glared at the ceiling. She should go over there right now, and give him a piece of her mind. Her hands clenched in the bedclothes. She should wake him up and explain to him in precise detail exactly why he was wrong and what he ought to be doing about it. And then, when she was in full flow, he'd be overcome by her passion and conviction, and would sweep her into his arms and... 

Sam sat up quickly – and the room lurched like it had been torpedoed. 

She closed her eyes and slumped back down with a groan. Ugh. Who was she kidding? It was the middle of the night, and of course he wouldn't apologize, never mind... anything else. He'd probably just kick her off his boat again. Not that it mattered, because she wasn't going. 

Stupid alcohol. 

She pulled the blanket around herself, curling on her side. The day – the whole trip – was a write-off. She might as well give up and go to sleep, and try to think of a new plan in the morning. Yes, that would be the sensible thing to do.

In the dark, though, her mind circled restlessly, refusing to shut down. And everything was still swaying.

_I'm sorry, Sam._

Her hand was tucked around her bare waist, her thumb stroking her stomach. With the anesthetic of alcohol, it felt strangely disconnected, as though it was someone else's hand. Experimentally, she ran the hand up to the curve of her breast. Her nipple pressed into her palm through the lace of her bra.

_I'm just a lonely, grouchy old man._

Well, maybe not _old_ old...

_Pig-headed, too._

But certainly that. 

_How can I make it up to you?_

Sam sighed, imagining his hands running down her body, rough skin on his palms catching a little on her underwear, then stroking down her thigh. Her own hand followed the path of the imaginary one. There was still a hint of that motor oil, but in her imagination he'd tidied himself up, just for her. Did his boat have a bathroom? She pictured herself in there, later, the room cramped, barely enough space to turn around. Her lips in the tiny mirror were kiss-swollen... She slid one leg against the other, squirming a little.

_Are you cold? Let me warm you up._

She imagined a broad chest against her back, his taller body curling around hers, the dry scratch of his chest hairs. She imagined that they were established lovers, and that she'd already grudgingly forgiven him because she knew what he was like. "You're such a jerk. See if I repair your engine now."

Phantom lips kissed her neck, and gently trailed up to her shoulder. _Mmm-hmm. You don't know why you put up with me,_ he teased. Sam smiled, hiding her face in the blanket. Her hand skimmed over the front of her thighs, brushed tantalizingly against the fabric between her legs, and then slid beneath, stroking purposefully. She was already wet – damn him. _Oh, I'd tease you more._ He didn't approve of her getting down to business so quickly. _Make it last. Make you scream._

"Only with annoyance," she muttered. But she pressed two fingers together and slid them more gently back and forth, focusing less on getting herself off and more on what he might do. He'd be tentative at first, discovering what she liked best by trial and error, growing more confident as he saw how she reacted to different stimuli. She'd noticed – of course she had – his long fingers, his angular thumbs, all smutted with oil. She shuddered, surprised to find she was already close. 

_Not yet._

It was a shame she wasn't at home, with the vibrator she'd custom-built out of ones that had proven less exciting than they'd looked online, and some bits from her toaster. Imaginary Jack agreed, rather interested in seeing her use it as his proxy. _I may be imaginary, but I'm not dead._

She pulled the blanket more securely around herself, imagining that his body was betraying his eagerness, his arms tight around her. She rocked slightly, wishing she had a hard body to lean back into, that she couldn't get away from his hands from the front, his cock from behind, sliding between her legs, pressing insistently against her. She tilted towards him, slightly away from her own hands – not the most convenient of positions, but fueling her fantasy – and remembered what it had been like when other men had done this, had spooned up and slid into her from behind. 

"Ohhhhh..."

She imagined the feel of him around her, inside her. Her breath came faster, and her fingers flew on autopilot, her hips flexing against a man who wasn't there. Her fingers – his fingers – were persistent, relentless. She forgot everything but finding that one place, over and over, the one that felt so good, the one that twisted up the tension until she was nearly... nearly... _nearly_...

Sam shook and let out a quiet groan, slumping forward and smothering her face in the bedclothes.

Slowly, her muscles unknotted, and she relaxed in twitches into the bed, relishing the warmth and contentment that sloshed through her veins. At that moment, reality and fantasy were so blurred that she was almost certain she could roll back on this not-very-well-sprung bed and into his arms. He'd be hot, his skin slightly damp, his hair mussed. She could almost feel his warm, satisfied breath against her hair. She lay still. 

_No worries, eh?_

After a little while, her breathing evened out into peaceful sleep.

\---

END.


End file.
